NATURE NEAR LONDON 



last year still cumber the ground, and bunches of 

 rough grass and rushes are scattered here and there. 

 A partridge separated from his mate is calling 

 across the field, and comes running over the short 

 sward as his companion answers. With his neck 

 held high and upright, stretched to see around, he 

 looks larger than would be supposed, as he runs 

 swiftly, threading his way through the tufts, the 

 docks, and the rushes. But suddenly noticing that 

 the gateway is not clear, he crouches, and is con- 

 cealed by the grass. 



Some distance further there is a stile, sitting 

 upon which the view ranges over two adjacent 

 meadows. They are bounded by a copse of ash 

 stoles and young oak trees, and the lesser of the 

 meads is full of rush bunches and dotted with green 

 ant-hills. Among these, just beyond gunshot, two 

 rabbits are feeding; pausing and nibbling till they 

 have eaten the tcnderest blades, and then leisurely 

 hopping a yard or so to another spot. Later on in 

 the summer this little meadow which divides the 

 lane from the copse is alive with rabbits. 



Along the hedge the brake fern has then grown, 

 in the corner by the copse there is a beautiful mass 

 of it, and several detached bunches away from the 

 hedge among the ant-hills. From out of the fern, 

 which is a favourite retreat with them, rabbits are 

 continually coming, feeding awhile, darting after 

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