the species that gives ascendency among birds. At one window where they were fed, a water-wagtail acted tyrant, and drove off the others. At another, a hen blackbird made no scruple of driving off her own 'ouzel cock so black of hue, with orange tawny bill.' At another, a thrush ruled as long as these birds were brought by famine. And, usually, the little blue-cap showed himself more than a match for the much fiercerlooking ox-eye, whose bravery seems to reside. in his colouring. Robins are often masters. of the field. Is it true that they kill one another in the autumn? I used to be told so in my youth and thought it a romance; but like other traditions, rejected in the pride. of one's younger days, I find cause for believing that 'tis true, 'tis pity; pity 'tis, 'tis true.' A labourer's widow tells us that her husband has seen them fight to the death in the woods; and they certainly never

seem to increase in numbers, though they have broods of four or five; and a bedridden old woman has had a family of four or six walking about together on her quilt, but that was before the breasts of the young ones became red, and they were still at peace. It is well known that they cannot be kept in an aviary because they kill the other birds, and I fear the indictment must be accepted.

FEBRUARY

ENGLISH months do not by any means feel bound to act up to their traditional character, and at the outset February is often quite as cold as January; indeed, some of the most distinguished snows I have ever known began in February, or else were at their height on its first days, cutting off communication where there were deep roads to be choked, and making everything tardy.

And then the inevitable thaw, announced by avalanches from our roofs, drippings from our trees, drippings, alas, from all the weak places in roof or ceiling, floods in the cellar, and the roads, which had become a mixture of dust and snow, churned into a horrid yellow cream.

At last

Like an army defeated,

The snow has retreated,

not here, to the bare hill, but under the shady banks, where it lies in lines till, as the sage declare, it waits for more to take it away. And, in fact, the final clearing rain often does begin with snow.

Come, wheel around,

The dirt we have found

Would be an estate at a farthing a pound,

is a song of Cowper's, often to be remembered in these days! Gravel-mended roads are seldom now disturbed except by the break up of a frost; but there is a lane, leading to old brick-fields, which once on a spring day two of us found a quagmire of thick clay. It was full on our way home; we tried creeping along the hedge sides, but slipped off, one of us plunging over both ankles, the other over one; so that when we emerged into the public road, in sight

-or supposed sight of a carriage full of acquaintances, it was proposed to stand with the one best foot foremost!

Mist and fog are prevalent in our valley, hanging over the water meadows along the river. The Will-of-the-Wisp is sometimes seen over the wet meadows. I have once seen the pale dim light, and the children. from the hamlet at the other end of the meadow speak as if it were not an uncommon sight. Far more frequent, however, is the bar of white, furry-looking vapour hanging over the grass in the evening, raised by the warmth of the earth and condensed by the cold upper air. For days together there will prevail a gray mist, not rain, not fog, near at hand, but a veil over everything. Dull, is it? Nay, come and walk along the raised footpath of our lane, and look towards the wooded hill, behind which the sun will presently set without being able to produce