SOME FEATHERED BUILDERS 9 



us, where a copse slopes down to some broken 

 ground, perched on the top of a wild cherry- 

 tree, a blackbird is singing with all his heart 

 and soul ; the air is full of his rich flute-like 

 notes : then he stops for a time. That glint of 

 light purple and yellow-green at the bottom of 

 the copse-growth shows that the blue-bells are 

 out, and the soft south wind wafts their faint 

 iris-like scent to you, so that you think it is a 

 grand privilege to live. 



Old bridges are passed over ; one-arched 

 bridges of good stand, that carry the now un- 

 frequented roads over old water-courses which 

 have filled for centuries the vast ponds, that 

 still remain as they were in past days. A mere 

 track for it is not wide enough to be called a 

 path led direct from one of those old bridges, 

 with its old oak posts and rails grey with 

 lichens, into a dip or slight hollow. Following 

 this, I came on one of the most beautiful pic- 

 tures of wood and water combined to be seen 

 anywhere. Fresh green foliage, golden patches 

 of furze blossoms, the ancient mill no longer 

 worked, with the skeleton of its great wheel, 

 of which one or two of its floats are still cling- 

 ing, were all reflected, as in a polished mirror, 

 in the clear, deep water of that large and lonely 



