154 



THE ANGLER'S SOUVENIR. 



clinging, seed-eating goldfinches ; briurs, where 

 the yellowhammer sunned his golden coat ; fox- 

 gloves, whose red-purple bells bent 'neath the 

 weight of a big bumble-bee ; dark beds of nettles, 

 from whose uninviting depths that handsome but- 

 terfly, the red-admiral, rose, hour-old from the 

 chrysalis, and flashed his scarlet bands in the face 

 of the dull "meadow-brown;" clumps of wild 

 geraniums, purple and red, nodding and bowing 

 to feathery grasses ; and clusters of meadow-sweet, 

 white and intangible as summer cloudlets, and 

 lading the hot air with a cloying fragrance. Then 

 there were such magnificent hedges : slender hazel 

 rods, thickets of bronzed thorn, glossy-green hollies, 

 and tangling briony, all so full of bird-life that the 

 Gipsy, who had led a town life, was astounded. 

 Criticising once a book we had written for boys, 

 she had said : " They find birds'-nests and butter- 

 flies so pat just as if they had been placed ready 

 for them to find. It is not likely or natural." To 

 which we had replied : " A country boy who has his 

 wits about him, and has a taste for natural history, 

 knows exactly where to look for what he wants, 

 and will, in all probability, find it ; so that there 

 is nothing wonderful about it." But she was still 

 incredulous, and accused us of drawing the long- 

 bow. Now we had our revenge ! After a pre- 

 liminary investigation of the neighbourhood, we led 

 her out of doors, and commenced, first of all, with 

 the verandah itself. In the roses, round the first 



