NA TU RE' S PA RA DISli 
167 
yet there are no eggs in it, but it is evidently fit to receive them. 
Already the copse is reached, one side of which flanks the 
stream and appears a dense mass of bushes too thick to pene- 
trate. Out of this you see a cat hurrying, no doubt bent on 
escaping your notice : she at any rate has no right there, and 
many a defenceless young bird or a weakly rabbit could bear 
testimony to her partiality for a life of freedom. Do not blame 
her, it is only a reversion to Nature, she is merely doing what 
her instinct prompts her to ; allow her to enjoy herself now, in 
all probability she will ere long fall a victim to the keeper’s gun 
or die a lingering death in the teeth of a steel trap. There is 
no lack of bird-life, however, to attract one’s attention, as the 
white-throats and nightingales are making the place ring with 
their melody, and the chiff-chaff is repeating its well-known 
notes: the blackbirds and starlings are also well in evidence, 
fully occupied with the worries of a large family. As you walk 
through a large clump of nettles, almost rising to your waist, 
you rouse a hen blackbird, which goes off with a startled cry. 
There below you is her nest, built right on the ground, and 
therein are three eggs and a tiny young one : the eggs are 
already “pipped” and require but a few hours to hatch. But 
now the hitherto slender streamlet widens into a large pond, 
completely surrounded by bushes, situated as it is in the centre 
of the copse. Your presence as yet is not noticed, and several 
pairs of moorhens are floating idly on the water, while others 
are creeping in and out of the reeds flirting their tails in con- 
tentment. A kingfisher, too, hurries across the water, bearing 
something in his beak to the far corner of the pond. As you 
walk along the edge the alarm is sounded and the moorhens 
now uneasily seek the shelter of the bank, along which they run, 
thinking that they are concealed . by the undergrowth. Now 
you wend your way along a small by-path intersecting one 
portion of the copse. Overhead are several tall fir-trees, whose 
thick massive branches almost obscure the sun. These the 
wood-pigeon claims as its own and therein builds his rough 
platform of sticks. As you casually poke your stick into some 
undergrowth you notice a bright eye fixed upon you, and this 
betrays a hen pheasant sitting closely and looking very comfort- 
able. Leave her undisturbed, as the keeper would resent your 
intrusion on his special property. Within a yard or two of this 
a round nest is seen, almost hidden by the foliage : as you 
advance your hand a tiny little yellow bird darts out and 
creeps quickly along the ground out of sight. The feather 
which she has brought out in her hurry shows the beautiful 
structure to belong to the willow warbler and this is put beyond 
doubt by the little red-speckled eggs — six of which lie snugly at 
the bottom. Passing on, we again arrive at the little stream, 
but this time it is at the other end of the pond, and across it is a 
rustic bridge made by the keeper for his convenience. As you 
stand on this and look towards the pond you notice a slight 
