WILD LIFE IN WINTER. 297 



One of my neighbours keeps fowls, using a con- 

 siderable plot of grass as a run for them. The rooks 

 found out this place, and as I wrote, on a keen 

 frosty day, they were busy eating up any food that 

 the fowls missed. 



The tit family, the blue tit excepted, confine them- 

 selves to the belts of fir that flourish luxuriantly near 

 us. There is warmth in winter in all fir-woods ; the 

 heavy masses of foliage form a roof for all wild 

 things great and small. The little gold-crest is in 

 clover there, as well as the brown owl, and the rab- 

 bits beneath. The brown owl, by the way, goes to 

 ground at times — that is, he takes possession of the 

 rabbit's hole. I do not know what persuasive power 

 he makes use of to constrain the rightful owner to 

 abandon his warm, snug retreat at the roots of the 

 firs; but the owl certainly does this, and he is not 

 the only bird that goes to earth. Shelddrakes, 

 stock-doves, with starlings and jackdaws, take to earth 

 and breed there. I have seen the song-thrush also 

 build her nest on the ground like a willow-warbler ; 

 she had left the covers close at hand to do this. 



After all, it is only by very slow degrees that 

 accurate knowledge can be gained about our wild 



