118 
BIBDS IN A VILLAGE. 
the ralline race — is not known. There is a pretty 
story, which circulated throughout Europe a little 
over fifty years ago, of a Polish gentleman cap- 
turing a stork that built its nest on his roof every 
summer, and putting an iron collar on its neck 
with the inscription, " Hsec Ciconia ex Polonia." 
The following summer it reappeared with some- 
thing which shone very brightly on its neck, and 
when the stork was taken again this was found to 
be a collar of gold, with which the iron collar had 
been replaced, and on it were graven the words, 
" India cum donis remittit ciconiam Polonis." No 
person has yet put an iron collar on the moor-hen 
to receive gifts in return, or followed its feeble 
fluttering flight to discover the limits of its migra- 
tion. It goes with the wave, and with the wave 
returns ; and, like most birds that observe times and 
seasons, it comes back to its own home — that cir- 
cumscribed spot of earth and water which forms its 
little world, and is more to it than all other reedy 
and willow-shaded pools and streams in England. 
It is said to be shy in disposition, yet all may see 
it here, within a few feet of the Row, with so many 
people continually passing, and so many pausing to 
watch the pretty birds as they trip about their 
little plot of green turf, deftly picking minute 
insects from the grass, and not disdaining crumbs 
thrown by children. A dainty thing to look at is 
