THE MALLARD. 391 



drake in that plumage which, at all other seasons of the year, is so 

 remarkably splendid and diversified. 



Though I dislike the cold and dreary months of winter as much as 

 any man can well dislike them, still I always feel sorry when the 

 returning sun prepares the way for the wild fowl to commence their 

 annual migratory journey into the unknown regions of the north. 

 Their flights through the heavens, and their sportings on the pool, 

 never fail to impart both pleasure and instruction to me. When the 

 time of their departure comes, I bid my charming harmless company 

 farewell, and from my heart I wish them a safe return. 



The following observations are from Waterton's note book : In 

 the spring of the year 1826, an old woman, in the village of Walton, 

 found a wild duck's nest in a neighbouring wood, and put the eggs 

 under a hen. I bought the young wild ducks of her. In the 

 autumn of 1827, five stranger wild ducks came and joined these on 

 the water at Walton Hall. They were two drakes and three ducks. 

 In the spring of 1828 one of these wild ducks was often seen to 

 alight upon the ruin over the old gateway on the island of Walton 

 Hall, which, a century and a half ago, resisted with success the force 

 of Oliver Cromwell. This ruin rises perpendicularly out of the 

 water, and is covered with ivy. Upon this ruin, about eighteen 

 feet above the surface of the water, has the wild duck formed her 

 nest, and is now actually sitting on her eggs. In order that I might 

 be sure of the fact, this afternoon, April 9th, 1828, I procured a 

 ladder, mounted on the ruin, saw the wild duck sitting on her nest, 

 took an egg in my hand, examined it and then put it back into the 

 nest. About four feet above this wild duck's nest is the nest of a 

 white owl ; and on the same ruin, at this moment, are four starlings' 

 nests, two house-sparrows' nests, and a ringdove's nest. In a hole 

 of the ruin, on the land side, level with the ground, are the nest and 

 eggs of a Malay fowl. On the I4th of this month (April), about half 

 past six o'clock in the morning, the wild duck, having hatched, had 

 contrived, unseen, to get eleven young ones down into the water. 

 One was dead. On dissecting it, I discovered a bruise on the back. 

 Probably it had struck against one of the thick branches of the ivy 

 in its descent to the water. I stuffed this little duck, and keep it on 



