208 
NATURE NOTES. 
birds are enabled to rear their young in safety and to find 
sufficient food near at hand for them after they are fledged; 
secondly, the embankment is little trespassed on, either by bird 
catchers or other individuals, owing to the frequent passing of 
trains and to the vigilance of the railway officials, and thus both 
birds and animals, as well as insects, are permitted to remain in 
quiet possession of the situation. 
Fylton Rectory, Gloucester. A. C. Mackie. 
CORRUGATED IRON: 
Another Aspect of the Question. 
R. ROPE’S interesting article on this subject (p. 112) 
breathes throughout the spirit of a nature lover and a 
searcher after the picturesque ; and as far as mere 
sentiment goes I am at one with him. There is, however, 
another side to the picture. Corrugated iron is without doubt a 
“ hideous staring abomination.” I know a charming old world 
spot which from a boy I have loved for its beauty. There were 
the stately trees which for many a generation had given each 
season an added charm to the scene. There too, surrounding 
one of the large home meadows, was the fence of rough posts 
and rails ; the meadow rich in buttercups and daisies, tenanted 
by grazing cows, some feeding, others chewing the cud of 
contentment and peace, a few quenching their thirst at the 
pond in the bottom. Above the meadow a high brick wall 
of harmonious tints — the rich deep red of age enlivened with 
lichen and mosses, pellitory-of-the-wall, greater celandine, vine- 
leaved saxifrage, and wall pennywort: a rich toned picture in 
a glorious setting. Behind the wall an old world garden, ter- 
minating in the courtyard of a sixteenth century manor house, 
every part of it mellow with age. Away to the left a vast old 
barn, timber built, with a lavish display of mighty beams and 
rough roof work of multitudinous intricacy. The whole scene 
could be taken in at once from the upland orchard to the right 
— just that “ sweet homely character ” beloved by Mr. Rope, 
the writer, and hundreds of others. Such had been the picture, 
such the calm repose of that spot for many a rolling year. Such 
is it no longer. 
Gone are the monarch oaks and elms : vanished “ the rough 
post and rail fence.” There is still the old wall ruddy in the 
sunlight. There too, the old garden and the ancient house 
silent and lethargic in decay, while wood pigeons preen upon 
its shingle roof and coo a requiem for the days that have been. 
But there is a worse sight yet to the lover of the beautiful 
than the loss of the giant guardians of the meads, or the “ harsh, 
