A VILLAGE IN HAMPSHIRE 187 



mind with colour more than any other bird I studied 

 in the neighbourhood of this Hampshire village, especially 

 the magpie. Both of these splendid and gifted species 

 were surprisingly common in the district, and one day 

 in early September I recorded the fact that I had seen 

 no fewer than forty-one magpies (mostly at the foot 

 of the hangars) with as much self-importance as though 

 I had been decorated with forty-one medals. No doubt 

 I saw the same bird more than once, but at any rate 

 there they were in the abimdance they used to be and 

 ought to be. It reminded me of the days when they 

 used to congregate in assemblies, like lyre-birds, birds 

 of paradise, ruffs and reeves, blackcock, etc., many of 

 whose spring rites are being broken for ever. I used 

 to watch these pies, too, in all conditions — feeding on 

 the meadows (sometimes in the same field with hens 

 and young chickens) ; flying along close to the ground 

 and making that half-turn before alighting which dis- 

 plays the iridescent plumage full face, so to speak ; 

 making for the thin sky with long rudder-like tails 

 behind and short, rounded wings beating like a screw, 

 frothing the pied plumage into a soft, misty grey, 

 and sounding their rattles among the trees. Like 

 the wagtails, magpies are always in several minds ; 

 feeding is the most frolicsome thing in the world, and 

 delightful and abrupt sensations dash in upon them 

 one after another, possessing them and finding expres- 

 sion in singular and as it were parti-coloured action. 

 Not that he is incapable of the pontifical manner. He 

 will stroll comfortably across the field or doze in the 

 sunlight, until suddenly the Castle of Indolence is razed 

 to the ground, the tail rears itself up at right angles 

 to the body, and the body is slewed wildly round. Or 

 he seems to stand on his bill with wings fluttering like 

 pennons in a gale ; or he takes a three-step sideways 

 hop, as though to confound all continuity. Indeed, 

 you never know where to have your bird. He is not 

 even a pie, strictly speaking, for his bold, contrasted 

 plumage is glossed, shaded and graduated by gleaming 

 tints of green, violet, grey and metallic bronze. His note 

 is described as a chattering or bleating, but he possesses 



