BIRD NOTES IN WANSTEAD PARK. 299 
thousands of these hardy birds, all in full chorus, having their 
last talk out before retiring to roost. As we approach, up they 
whirl in a dense cloud, and as they sweep round fill the air 
w r ith the sound of their wings like the rush of a storm through 
the forest ; then they settle again and renew their wild converse. 
Listen to that harsh bark that can be heard above it all ; surely 
the herons are come back to their spring quarters ; no doubt 
about it, confirming what the woodman told that last Tuesday 
some thirty of these shy but conservative fishermen returned 
to their nesting trees. We have not gone far before their nests 
come in sight ; one or two long-legged fellows are standing on 
the homes of their future progeny, and with harsh cries flap 
their huge wings and are off. They had caught sight of us 
though we were two or three hundred yards away ; so now we 
stand close and watch. What numbers of red-beaked moorhens 
there are about, moving their pretty heads so regularly back¬ 
wards and forwards as they glide along ; and look, swimming 
straight towards us and leaving a long track of ripple, is a water 
rat; with the telescope we watch every marking and hair on his 
rough back, till round wheel the starlings again and we miss 
his last dive. Now the herons in numbers come back to their 
nest trees, and here and there one will settle, but most of them 
detect us though we are fairly hidden, and they are away again. 
But it is growing dusk and it is time we were moving home¬ 
wards. As we pass, flocks of redwings are trooping with their 
plaintive cry to roost ; a pheasant goes rocketting over the 
tree tops ; scores of wood-pigeons fly out, and it is evident we 
are intruders where solitude is accustomed to reign. So we work 
our way back to the open, and pass again the mere where the 
strong ripples catch the reflection of the red sun that is just 
going down behind the line of grey trees on the horizon. 
We see our distinguished visitor rising and sinking on the 
waves far from the shore—and then we are back again to gas 
lights and almost London traffic. 
A ramble such as we have attempted to describe gives a 
pleasure which we think few other sources are able to afford ; 
and for those who love the country and are apt sometimes to sigh 
for purer air, may we not rejoice that in the neighbourhood of 
this great metropolis and almost at our very doors, there still 
remains a store of nature’s charms, which may fill the mind with 
as true happiness as the most rural spots can supply. 
