302 COUNTRY RAMBLES. 



keep together), and House Sparrow (observed one of these birds, a 

 rosy-breasted male Chaffinch, and a speckled Thrush busy washing 

 themselves simultaneously in a puddle by a rustic bridge; a very inter- 

 esting proceeding indeed). 



The light green of the Oats. &c., contrasts very finely with the 

 newly up-turned soil hard by. Nearly every tree is bare now, enjoying 

 a well-earned rest, and the country wears quite a winterly look. 



The raindrops on the hedgerows this morning reminded one of 

 so many buds of pure crystal. Has the reader noticed how each 

 raindrop lodges on a bud, or at the end of a branchlet? The new 

 red shoot on a Wild Rose bush as looked at through a raindrop in 

 other words, through Nature's own microscope is very striking. 



The birds have been very busy amongst the Hips and Haws, 

 especially the former. 



What a lot of nests one can see now that the leaf is off. How 

 we hunted and hunted in that old thorn bush last Summer, and could 

 not find the nest neither high nor low. Here we now see it at our 

 very feet. What stupids we were not to look just there. 



We explored this morning in the neighbourhood where the River 

 Colne is first to be seen. During the Summer it is practically dry, 

 but after the recent prolonged rain, and during Winter, its course is 

 easily traced, and it flows in one spot across the roadway; that is why 

 there is a diverted path up the bank and across a rustic wooden bridge. 

 On our ramble to-day we were just able to cross the road, but a little 

 later the stream will be swollen, so that to cross one must take advant- 

 age of the Winter track up the bank and over the bridge. 



We met the villagers going to mornsong why not this as well 

 as evensong and very trim and neat they appeared in their black 

 Sunday clothes. They are very orthodox in their attendance at the 

 village church; for one reason, if they are not there all the world 

 knows it. The village schoolmaster must, of course, attend; he, 

 perchance, leads the rustic choir, and dare not offend the vicar. 

 They wander in through the porchway in a long straggling line, bid 

 one another a cheery "Good morning," and enter the sacred building 

 ushered in by the sweet paean of a Redbreast, the carol of a Wren, or 

 the lyrics of King Thrush, who may be seen perched on a naked 

 Lime tree in the churchyard hard by. It is all very rural and simple; 

 thus it has a charm for us. 



A sluggish river runs through the common, and in it we noticed 



