one from necessity, will close. I possessed a couple of water-rails recently. Any one who has examined the structure of a water-rail would cease to wonder at the marvellous travelling powers of the bird. It is formed expressly for the purpose of gliding through tangled swamp vegetation. The bird is very courageous; in fact, the thin, drawn-out creature is decidedly of a pugnacious disposition when he thinks fit. I have seen him on the war-path once, and once only. Then he certainly feared nothing. This was in the breeding season. I have heard him groan, grunt, and squeak in a fashion peculiarly his own, when I have been in the thick reedbeds; have heard also the heavy slush-up of a pike, and for a moment the flick and flutter of wings. What that boded one could only guess at, for it was impossible to see. One thing I know, and that is, when the feathered inhabitants of the swamps have their young, large pike work themselves right up in the thick of the reed-roots and stems, and there they remain, from motives of their

own.

From the nature of the localities these birds, the waders, frequent, it is very difficult to know much

about them. Conjecture as to facts is worse than useless, it is mischievous. Whatever I have stated in these pages about the birds is from personal observation. It is not much, certainly, but what little there is, is all from the life.

The admirable groups of British birds with their natural surroundings, left by the late eminent naturalist, E. T. Booth, to the corporation of Brighton, are all that could be desired or wished for. In the Natural History Museum at South Kensington we have, too, the series of groups composed of British birds, set up in the same manner as those contained in the Booth collection at Brighton. To all those who may be interested in birds, without having the time or opportunity of searching for them in their own habitats, either of the places we have mentioned would give all they could wish to see, the life of the creatures alone excepted. The rising generation—those, we mean, who admire bird-life — can form no opinion of the difficulties field naturalists had to struggle with under forty-five years ago, whereas now princely and lifelike collections are open for study and instruction free.

Those who seek for wild creatures in their haunts,

must be out in all seasons and in all weathers. Some of my most valued insights as to the ways and haunts of wild-fowl-notably swimmers and waders have been gained in such rough freezing weather that for very pity's sake,-for a merciful man must be considerate to dogs,-the rough-coated water-spaniels have been left at home. If the bird aimed at came to hand, well and good; if it did not, the great gulls, the black-cobs, ate it almost alive.

CHAPTER XIV.

THROUGH FIRS AND HEATHER.

WINTER has not left us for good and all, but there is a change, that something so hard to explain in mere words, that I may call life in the air. For many years I have greeted and watched the first signs of this fresh life, and their effect on our wild creatures and their haunts. I have already written about the Surrey Hills, at least of a great part of them. Holmbury, and as far as Hindhead, my readers have explored with me. Beyond this region there is a wilder country, a vast hollow flat, that lies between and at the back of the hills, which is the borderland of three counties, Surrey, Sussex, and Hampshire. A land of stunted firs and stunted heather it is, and of silver sand and bogs,-a barren, hungry district,

Now

where man and his dwellings are remarkably scarce, and when found they yield nothing to cause you much joy. A fresh face is a novelty there, and the speech is strange. A short, courteous question, however direct to the point it may be, finds no ready answer. Often I have been nearly out of sight and hearing before a reply has been shouted at me, and then it was to little purpose. and again there are exceptions to be met with, but they are few and far between. The foresters are good fellows, when you know them and they know you; but a stranger, whether well or roughly dressed, is regarded with suspicion. Before the native can make up his mind as to what brought you into the wilds, what you want there, and what you are going to do now you are there, you will probably be out of sight and hearing, leaving him something to ponder on for a week at least. But for all that, be sure he has looked you well over, and he would be able to give a most accurate account of your dress and features, of the stout ash staff you carry in particular; and it will be matter of conversation with him for months to

come.