A WEEK WITH HAMPSHIRE GRAYLING. 45 



for the banks of our favourite stream. We arrived at 

 2.15, on one of the hottest afternoons we have had all 

 through this droughty summer. Too hot for me to fish 

 in these bright and shiny waters, but the Major went 

 immediately to work, and I followed, with an eye on 

 his movements, keeping mostly in the shade. The 

 grand May-tree overhanging the hut before spoken of, 

 which in early June was one mass of white bloom 

 is now a mass of red berries. I sat on the bench 

 underneath this pleasant tree and lazily watched the 

 Major labouring in the fierce sun. What a quiet 

 scene it was, far away from the stirring, madding 

 noises of Babylon, that great wilderness of bricks 

 and mortar not a breath of wind, not a sound to 

 be heard but a starling sometimes crooning overhead 

 amongst the berries, or the occasional flop of a ripe 

 acorn from an overhanging oak into the deep water, 

 startling one like the rise of a big fish ; it is surprising 

 with what aplomb a sound acorn comes down and 

 goes straight to the bottom, whilst an unsound one 

 falls lightly and floats away. Yonder, away up in the 

 hot sun, are a couple of herons croaking and flapping 

 their great wings, waiting to come down to our water- 

 meadows ; a stoat runs across from the water to the 

 wood with a mouse in his mouth. Now comes a great 

 chattering of rooks overhead, two rooks in savage pur- 

 suit of a light-coloured hawk, darting at him by turns, and 

 pecking him at every chance he was evidently in for 

 a bad time. One of the rooks soon gave up the chase, 

 but the other pursued his enemy steadily on till both 

 disappeared in the far-off woods. One would have 

 thought that one hawk was more than a match for 



