THE MEADOWS IN WINTER. 117 



a district for themselves, and it is by new arrivals that the places of the 

 slain birds are, in a suitable neighbourhood, so regularly filled. 



Next, one's attention is attracted by the incessant and ubiquitous chirping 

 of a family party of Long-tailed Tits, as, tempted forth by the mild atmo- 

 sphere and the sunshine, they flit along the hedges beside the streams on 

 their way to some favourite copse or fir-wood. Here they are always to be 

 found when the weather becomes more severe. A rarer and more welcome 

 sight would be a small flock of Siskins, and these, if seen at all, will be 

 hanging like Tits in every conceivable attitude from the boughs of an alder. 

 I once met a single Siskin not far from St. Cross, and made an effort to 

 get it with a walking-stick gun, but the barrel was so corroded with rust 

 that the shot positively failed to get through it, and the bird escaped. Lesser 

 Redpolls often accompany the Siskins, and resemble them much in habits 

 and general appearance; their song is, however, weak and monotonous, and 

 they have few qualities to recommend them beyond their cheerfulness. When 

 the sun is behind them, and you cannot see the colours, Siskins and Redpolls 

 may always be distinguished from Tits by their forked tails, which are 

 noticeable even at the top of fair- sized trees. 



Little more will be seen to-day, unless it be the fleeting form of a Haw- 

 finch, or perhaps a Moorhen as she disappears into a clump of reeds, or the 

 saucy little Dabchick, which seems to positively revel in the icy waters. 



And now the scurrying clouds and the biting blast of the north-easter 

 foretell the approaching storm, and you wake on the morrow to find the 

 ground covered with a sheet of snow. Let us wait a few days until the change 

 has had time to tell upon the birds, and then sally forth once more. The first 

 to attract us are the Peewits ; they are present in numbers, driven down from 

 the upland fields to the marshy dips, where the water has thawed the snow, 

 and left bare a scanty feeding-ground. Some are foraging singly, and, wary 

 as ever, seldom allow a near approach ; but others are flying backwards and 

 forwards, as if uncertain whether it would not be better policy, after all, to 

 migrate at once to the unfrozen oozes of the sea-shore. These latter afford 

 many a shot to the patient gunner who lurks hidden in the centre hedge. 

 Sometimes, too, a small party of Golden Plover appears upon the scene, 

 following the main river on its way to the sea. They may be recognized by 

 their brownish appearance, peaked wings, swift flight, and their way of 

 keeping the head close to the shoulders. One rarely sees much of them, 

 for, unlike the Peewit, they go steadily on in one direction, never staying 

 long in any particular meadow. 



But what is this curious dark little creature that has just fluttered up 



