Minstrels of the Winter. 19 



manage to get so fat on potamageton and other water plants 

 that they always feed upon there, when suddenly I was 

 startled by a splash, and saw a little bird dash into the clear 

 stream beside me, and fly along the green weedy bed with the 

 swiftness of an arrow, then emerge, fly upwards, and alight on 

 the bough of a willow overhanging the water. There for a 

 moment he was busy jerking down his throat some sort of 

 food he had captured during his brief submergence, and then 

 he broke out into such a clear ringing song, that I might have 

 fancied the whole affair a dream, or the bird an angel in dis- 

 guise. I remember the event the more particularly, because, 

 till then, I always believed the water blackbird (Cinclus aqua- 

 tions) to be exclusively a native of the highland glens, where 

 it overpowers the roar of the waterfall and the muttering- of 

 the mountain breeze with its rich, wild melody, loudest among 

 the feathered minstrels of Britain. I soon lost my friend ; he 

 vanished as suddenly as he appeared, and but once since have 

 I seen this most curious, most rare, and most musical of all the 

 minstrels of the winter. 



Bechstein describes the water-ousel as a favourite cage- 

 bird with the Grermans, and Macgillivray, greatest of word 

 painters, tells of its habits as observed by him among the 

 fastnesses of the north. In form and features this bird resem- 

 bles a starling more than a blackbird ; the head tapers towards 

 the beak, the beak is long, flattish, and black, the head and neck 

 are of a rusty brown, the rest of the upper part of the body is 

 black, with an ashy tint, the quill feathers and the very short 

 tail are black, breast pure white, shading into deep maroon, 

 and that again shading into black, which extends over the belly. 

 It is a peculiar bird ; when looking forward in a half crouching 

 attitude, and for a moment motionless, it has the look of a 

 hungry charity boy with a bob-tail coat; but when it lifts up 

 its head and stands almost erect, showing its broad white breast, 

 to pour out its rich mellifluous song, there is a pride and daring 

 in its attitude befitting a bird that loves best the mountain 

 breeze, the brawling brook, and the foaming waterfall. It 

 haunts the stream in the capacity of a fisher, and its food is 

 principally the spawn of trout and salmon, and this it seems 

 to take during its flight under water, and without needing to 

 pause where it is impossible it could continue for more than a 

 few seconds at a time. 



Another real minstrel of the winter is the missel-thrush, 

 which I mention with less of the pleasure I should otherwise 

 experience, because I have found it impossible to cultivate 

 mistletoe in my garden at Stoke Newington through the vast 

 increase of London smoke, consequent on the growth of build- 

 ings on every hand. The China rose was the first to feel the 



