then the cooing of the wood pigeon from a large thorn tree, not far from me, covered with ivy, and now and then the chirping of a family of titmice, as they suspended themselves from the branches of the trees over my head in search of insects between the interstices of the bark. There was also the shrilling or crinking, as Mr. White calls it, of the field-cricket, and the piping of the wryneck, a bird it is difficult to discover, though he may be heard in every direction during the spring months. A large herd of red deer were grazing quietly near me, and at a little distance numerous cattle were cooling themselves in the shallows of the large pond, and whisking off with their tails the flies which fell into the water, and afforded food for the smaller fish-so great is the economy of nature. The sun beams were sometimes seen smiling on the water, and at other times disappeared for a moment in consequence of a passing cloud.

As plays the sun upon the glassy stream,
Twinkling another counterfeited beam.

It was impossible to witness this scene-to inhale the fresh breeze-and see all nature joyous about one, without sensations of gratitude and pleasure ;

Who would live turmoiled in the court,

That might enjoy such quiet scenes as these.'

The "antique" root on which I sat was one of those sturdy ones which may generally be seen projecting from old trees, especially those which grow on banks. That part of it which "peeped out" above the soil, was covered with moss, and it appeared to grasp and seize upon the ground as if conscious of the support and assistance it would be required to afford when storms and gales attacked the splendid tree of which it formed a part.

< It seems Idolatry, with some excuse,

'When our forefather Druids in their Oaks
'Imagined sanctity.'

Cowper.

I delight in viewing the varied shapes and appearances of old oaks. Some of the pollards even preserve a great irregularity, but there is one tree growing in the valley below Lady Stewart's Lodge in Richmond Park, which I often visit, and never without an encreased admiration of its beauty. It has more branches projecting from its stem than I ever saw before, and they are so disposed, and spread themselves so high and so wide, that the effect of the whole is sufficient to strike any observer with admiration. It is surrounded by numerous thorns, and one may almost fancy that they have voluntarily placed themselves under the protection of this monarch of the park, and are regarding him with silent

wonder, while they are receiving the benefit of his shelter :

'His top branch over peer'd Jove's spreading tree,

And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind."

I find a great variety of birds in that part of the park in which my favourite oak flourishes. I was admiring it the other day, when I heard the five or six successive taps which the spotted woodpecker, or witwall, (Picus Major) makes on a loose piece of decayed bark. I looked and expected to see the bird close to me. I could not however discover it, and then went to the next tree. The tapping continued, as before, apparently close to me, but still no bird was to be seen. I at last discovered it about fifty yards from the spot at which I first heard it, pursuing its operations without appearing to notice me. There seemed to be a sort of ventriloquism in the brisk and rapid blows of the bird, which made it appear nearer than it really was. It may not perhaps be generally known that these taps, against decayed bark, are for the purpose of frightening the woodlouse and other insects from their retreats, and the bird then feeds upon them.

In this part of the park I witness constant fights between the misseltoe thrush, (Turdus Viscivorus) or as I hear it called, the stern cock, and the magpie, and sometimes with the jackdaw. The

missel defends itself, or rather its nest, with great courage, and I see it beat off the jackdaw. These birds build in the holes of the pollards in the Park, and with so little attempt either at concealment or security, that I frequently can look into the holes during my rides in the park, and see the nests.

Titmice are in great abundance. "It is the great titmouse which sings those three cheerful notes which the country people say sounds like 'sit ye down.' They call the bird by that name. It is the marsh titmouse which makes two quaint sharp notes, which some people compare to the whetting of a sithe."* The goldfinch will sometimes flit past me and settle on some thistles growing near the park wall. They must assist in floating the down by pecking at the heads of the weed:

'Wide o'er the thistly lawn, as swells the breeze,

A whitening shower of vegetable down

'Amusive floats.'

THOMSON.

The tree-creeper is a great favorite with me. It is a pretty little nimble bird, and runs up the bodies and boughs of trees like a mouse.

It runs

also on the lower side of the arms of trees with its back downwards. It stays with us all the winter. Mr. White has observed this property,

and that a pair of these birds built at one says

*White. MSS.

end of a house behind some loose plaster, and that they crept up the wall with the agility of a mouse, and seemed at all times to prefer climbing up steep surfaces.

The nightingale is heard in this part of the park. In the day time its song is of short continuance. At night if another nightingale is singing near, the song is continued with great energy.

"The nightingale, that chaunteth all the springe,

'Whose warblinge notes throughout the wooddes are harde,

Being kept in cage, she ceaseth for to singe

'And mournes, because her libertie is barde.'

GEFFREY Whitney's Emblemes, 1586.

The nightingale is seldom heard to sing before the second week in April, and towards the end of May its song gets weaker and weaker.

The cuckoo is now heard in every direction about me. I see him sometimes mobbed by the wagtail, and some of the other fly-catcher tribe, not because he feeds upon them, but because he invades their retreats. I have often watched the cuckoo, but never yet saw it in the act of procuring its food, a circumstance which almost makes me think that he feeds late at night only, or very early in the morning, when moths are most abundant. That it is insectiverous there can, I think, be no doubt, though some naturalists have thought otherwise. The very circumstance of its depositing its egg in the nest only of those birds who