374 THE ZOOLOGIST. 



about two — -paces from where I am, and "queek" from that dis- 

 tance. I keep hearing the little, tittering note, too, which I have 

 attributed to them before. I have no doubt it is they, but they 

 seem always to utter it when invisible amongst the reeds. 



December lUh. — (A fine bright day, but very cold. A hard 

 frost.) At creek, by the fallen tree, in the morning. " The bride 

 has paced into the hall," and a Moorhen along the bank — easy, 

 elastic steps, head nodding and tail flirting in unison — nestles, 

 then, on the grass, rises again, and steps along, as before — stands 

 on one leg a little — puts it down — steps — draws it up again — 

 glances about — inclined to preen feathers, but does not — nestles 

 — 'a shoulder-glance — half " spies a danger " — rises and tiptoes 

 out of sight. What a little bundle of caprices and apprehen- 

 sions ! But they all become her. " All her acts are queens." 



Now comes a " chack, chack" with great suddenness and 

 energy, and then " chee-ee, chiroo," both very sharp and high. 

 Then one Moorhen chases another, flying and scudding through 

 the water to land, having gained which the chased bird runs 

 fiercely at a third that was feeding there, and pursues him all 

 about. It is like that scene in ' The Rivals ' where Sir Antony 

 bullies his son, the son the servant, and so on. " Tis still the 

 sport" in natural history, to see poor humanity aped. Really it 

 is very humorous, the study — " teems with quiet fun," as Gilbert 

 says. 



Again a Moorhen runs violently at an intruder — as he seems 

 to consider him — on his territory, and chases him away. Another 

 one nestles down amidst the snow and frost, fluttering his wings 

 above his back, as a cabman might slap his arms across his chest 

 on a frosty morning. For a few seconds there is a full, vibratory, 

 vigorous flutter of both — equally and together — and then each is 

 flapped separately, twice or thrice, before being folded. There 

 are several more chases, and one bird keeps driving others all 

 about, making sometimes quite a " sauve qui peut." He starts, 

 often, from a good distance off, and runs like a bull, as yesterday. 

 Now, too, through the glasses, I can plainly see a Moorhen 

 pecking at, snipping, holding in his bill, and then swallowing, the 

 small, light, frosted blades of grass — " in the morning, in the 

 morning, when the earth is fresh and dewy." One is sitting on 

 a tuft of bent and crumpled flags, half a foot above the water, 



