HOME WOOD 193 



how the luscious berries quenched my thirst when I visited 

 Homewood last Summer time. 



Where the wood is of a more open character, a stately Birch 

 rears its queenly head, and graceful Bluebells still linger in a 

 belt of blue. A week previous I gathered near here both 

 Primroses and Bluebells in blossom at the same time. They 

 were growing side by side, surely an uncommon event in rural 

 England worthy of 'note. 



Swifts are careering above the tree-tops at breakneck speed, 

 screaming as they go ; Swallows are twittering pleasantly as 

 if to give thanksgiving on the Lord's day for the great abundance 

 of insect life which the glorious Summer weather of May and 

 early June brought unto them, and a loud-voiced Wren, not to be 

 despised because of smallness of stature, suddenly bursts into 

 song from the briar bush opposite. On disturbing the singer, it 

 creeps, mouse-like, through the bushes, and then flits in front 

 of us more like a butterfly than a bird. The cause of its jubilancy 

 is now apparent, for, among a mass of dead bramble leaves, its 

 globular nest is deftly woven. A Chaffinch has young in a haw- 

 thorn bush not far away, and is so conscious of protection that, 

 as we peer in, the female bird sits tight upon her well -fledged 

 young. So well-grown are the latter, that it is with difficulty 

 we are able to discern young birds from old. We remark upon 

 the smallness of the family nursery for such big chicks, and then, 

 her patience exhausted, the mother-bird leaves her homestead, 

 and utters repeated calls of distress. Her mate is perched on 

 a neighbouring tree, and cheers her with his high-pitched love- 

 song. But it is all to no purpose, as the weeping female has 

 all her thoughts centred upon the well-being, and safety, of 

 her expectant brood. Fearful lest our presence should disturb 

 her unduly, we hie away, to discover, a few yards distant, the 

 mossy nest of a Hedge Accentor, difficult of access. The 

 young have flown, but an addled, or infertile, egg remains in 

 the nest as evidence of this faithful little bird's presence in 

 almost the same spot, where, in previous years, it has reared a 

 family. 



I retrace my footsteps towards the house, greeted, in passing, 

 by a friendly Goat, tethered among luxuriant grass near the 

 entrance gates, and, later, by the newest arrival at Homewood 

 in the person of Brownie, a six weeks' old Terrier pup. Brownie, 

 full of play, persists in following me, and is intensely interested 

 in my bird nesting expedition. Tung, up at the window, is far 



