are just as wonderful, though clad in material forms, as any water spirit that ever was evolved from the poet's brain, and have the inestimable merit of being always within reach whenever we need them.

I will venture to assert that no fairy tales, not even excepting those of the "Arabian Nights," can surpass in marvel the true life-history of the mayfly, the frog, the newt, and the dragon-fly, as will be narrated in the course of these pages. I may go even farther, and assert that there is no inhabitant of the brook and its banks whose biography and structure are not full of absorbing interest, and will not occupy the longest life, if only an attempt be made to study them thoroughly.

An almost typical example of slow-flowing brooks is to be found in the remarkable channels which intersect the country between Minster and Sandwich, and which, on the ordnance map, look almost like the threads of a spider's web. In that flat district, the fields are not divided by hedges, as in most parts of England, or by stone walls—"dykes," as they are termed in Ireland—such as are employed in Derbyshire and several other stony localities, but by channels, which have a strong individuality of their own.

Even the smallest of these brooks is influenced by the tide, so that at the two periods of slack water there is no perceptible stream.

Yesterday afternoon, having an hour or so to spare at Minster, I examined slightly several of these streams and their banks. The contrast between them and the corresponding brooklets of Oxford, also a low-lying district, was very strongly marked.

In the first place, the willow, which forms so characteristic an ornament of the brooks and rivers of Oxford, is wholly absent. Most of the streamlets are entirely destitute of even a bush by which their course can be marked; so that when, as is often the case, a heavy white fog overhangs the entire district, looking from a distance as if the land had been sunk in an ocean of milk, no one who is not familiarly acquainted with every yard of ground could make his way over the fields without falling into the watery boundaries which surround them.

Some of them, however, are distinguished by hawthorns, which take the place of the willows, and thrive so luxuriantly that they may lay claim to the title of forest trees. Blackberries, too, are exuberant in their growth, and in many spots the hawthorn and blackberry on opposite sides of the brook have intertwined their branches across it and have completely hidden the water from sight. On these blackberries, the fruit of which was in its green state, the drone-flies and hawk-flies simply swarmed, telling the naturalist of their multitudinous successors, who at present are in the preliminary stages of their existence.

Among the blackberries the scarlet fruit of the woody nightshade (a first cousin of the potato) hung in tempting clusters, and I could not help wondering whether they would endanger the health of the young Minsterians.

In some places the common frog-bit had grown with such luxuriance that it had completely hidden the water, the leaves overlapping each other as if the overcrowded plants were trying to shoulder each other out of the way.

In most of these streamlets the conspicuous bur-reed (Spargánium ramósum) grew thickly, its singular fruit being here and there visible among the sword-like leaves. I cannot but think that the mediæval weapon called the "morning star" (or "morgen-stern") was derived from the globular, spiked fruit-cluster of the bur-reed.

A few of the streams were full of the fine plant which is popularly known by the name of bull-rush, or bulrush (Typha latifólia), but which ought by rights to be called the "cat's-tail" or "reed-mace." Of this plant it is said that a little girl, on seeing it growing, exclaimed that she never knew before that sausages grew on sticks. The teasel (Dipsacus) was abundant, as were also several of the true thistles.

In some places one of these streams becomes too deep for the bur-reed, and its surface is only diversified by the half-floating leaves of one or two aquatic plants.

On approaching one of these places, I find the water to be apparently without inmates. They had only been alarmed by my approach, which, as I had but little time to spare, was not as cautious as it ought to have been. However, I remained perfectly still, and presently a little fish appeared from below. It was soon followed by a second and a third, and before long a whole shoal of fish were floating almost on the surface, looking out for insects which had fallen into the water.

The day being hot, and with scarcely a breath of wind, the fish soon became quite bold. They did not move beyond the small spot in which they had appeared, but they all had their tails in slight movement, and their heads in one direction, thus showing that although the water appeared to be perfectly motionless, there must be a current of some sort, fish always lying with their heads up the stream, so as to allow the water to enter their mouths and pass over their gills.

If then these sluggish streams were unlike those of Oxford, where the ground is low, and nearly level, how utterly distinct must they be from those of hilly and especially of rocky localities!

In the earlier part of the present year I was cursorily examining a brook in Cannock Chase, in Staffordshire. Unfortunately, the day was singularly inauspicious, as the sun was invisible, the atmosphere murky, and a fierce north-east wind was blowing, a wind which affects animals, etc., especially the insect races, even more severely than it does man. Even the birds remain under shelter as long as they can, and not an insect will show itself. Neither, in consequence, will the fish be "on the feed."

On a previous visit, we had been more fortunate, trout, crayfish, etc., testifying to the prolific character of the brook, which in one place is only four or five feet in width, and yet, within fifty yards, it has formed itself into a wide and treacherous marsh, which can only be crossed by jumping from one tussock of grass to another; and yet, again, it suddenly spreads out into a broad and shallow torrent, the water leaping and rippling over the stony bed. Scarcely a bush marks its course, and within a few yards it is quite invisible.

As we shall presently see, the brooks of the chalk downs of Wiltshire, and of the regular mixture of rock and level ground, which are characteristic of Derbyshire, have also their own separate individualities.

We shall, however, find many allusions to them in the course of the work, and we will therefore suppose ourselves to be approaching the bank of any brook that is but little disturbed by man. What will be likely to happen to us will be told in the following chapters.

CHAPTER II.

Life-history of the water-rat—No science can stand alone—What is a water-rat?—The voles of the land and water—Their remarkable teeth—The rodents and their incisor teeth—The tooth and the chisel—The skate "iron"—Chewing the cud—Teeth of the elephant—Feet of the water-vole—A false accusation—Water-voles in gardens—Winter stores—Cats and water-voles—Subterranean pioneering—Mental character of the water-vole—Standing fire—Its mode of eating.

Plop!

A water-rat has taken alarm, and has leaped into the brook.

A common animal enough, but none the less worthy of notice because it is common. Indeed, it is in many respects a very remarkable creature, and we may think ourselves fortunate that we have the opportunity of studying its habits and structure.

There is much more in the animal than meets the eye, and we cannot examine its life-history without at the same time touching upon that of several other creatures. No science stands alone, neither does any animal, however insignificant it may appear to be; and we shall find that before we have done with the water-rat, we shall have had something to say