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other, wagging its tail as it alights, and we cannot but pause to listen to the liquid notes of the Reed Warbler, hiding—
"And abiding
From the common gaze of men,
Where the silver streamlet crosses
O'er the smooth stones, green with mosses,
And glancing,
And dancing,
Goes singing on its way."
We walk awhile up the stream, and small as it is, the banks are indeed lovely to behold, planted as they are, despite the sad havoc made by cattle to which we may owe the barrenness of much of our river scenery, with rich dense masses of the fresh green Sea-rush, Scirpus maritimus, known to many by rivers near the sea at home, from the cover of which start a fine pair of Bitterns, who fly heavily and lazily away. Everywhere we are treading under foot the spicy Mints, the more fragrant the more they are crushed the delicate Convolvulus is twining elegantly round the stems of the Loosestrife, the pink flowers of which are always attractive, and the lovely white crimson petalled flowers of the Damasonium just peep above the surface of the water on which its dark green leaves float so refreshingly; our old friend, the Vervain, is here too, and the pretty pink Melaleuca paludosa. The crows' nests deposited on the few high trees which are left, show how the residences of the settlers on the margin of the river must have been despoiled of their palings and brushwood during the winter floods, which on some occasions have risen above the bridge at Fyansford. How merrily rushes the stream over its pebbly bed, musical as a young girl's laugh, anon,
