THE FERNY MOORLANDS. 
69 
cry of a blackbird, as it darts out of the tiny 
thicket where its nest is hid ; the rustle in the 
high embankment on your right, and the quivering 
of the fern-fronds, followed by the sudden flight 
across the path of a rabbit, or the rolling, hurrying, 
scurrying contortions of a snake, which your un- 
expected appearance may have surprised basking 
in the tiny gleam of sunshine which has fallen 
on to the greensward through an opening in the 
trees overhead ; the heavy splash in the river on 
your left, as a water-rat, which had not dreamed 
of your unwelcome intrusion, takes the shortest 
and readiest path to his hole, diving one moment* 
in one place under the stream, to reappear the 
next somewhere else, under the belief that mean- 
while you may think that his power of holding his 
breath is unlimited ; or the lighter splash of the 
trout, as, unaware of your presence, it rises in the 
dark, deep pool near you at the tempting palmer 
fly that has just dropped from the bushes. All 
these sights and sounds contribute to the delight 
of this river-side ramble. Or you may rest for a 
moment, and, peering cautiously around you, so 
