THE FAMILY OF WADERS. 271 



sight of the green sandpiper. He is for ever moving 

 on. Something impels him to constant haste. In 

 two places I have most unexpectedly met him, the 

 first time it was on a breezy upland common, with 

 just enough wind blowing to carry the white clouds 

 along without blowing them to pieces ; a few sheep 

 were wandering about, their bells tinkling. On 

 one side of the common are a number of old black- 

 thorns, with wisps of wool sticking on their rough 

 stems, then comes the long highroad, and close 

 to the road is a small pond, gravel-edged, where 

 the cattle that graze on the common come to drink. 

 A shrill whistle, and in front of us is a beautiful bird. 

 He runs a short distance, his feet just in the water, 

 picks at something, whistles, and is off over some 

 old beech-trees. I have examined him dead, and 

 have seen him and his mate exquisitely set up by 

 a naturalist and bird-stuffer, but you must see him 

 alive to form any idea of the dashing vitality of the 

 bird itself. 



Another sight of this, to me rare bird, I recall. 

 I have left Surrey Hills behind me to wander in 

 another county, in the forest districts of Hampshire 

 for a time. It is wild there, very wild and beautiful. 



