earth and some worms. We only kept it a day or two. One morning I found it dead. I suppose it had not enough to eat. The mole has an insatiable appetite, and, according to the observations of some naturalists, it will devour birds. Mr. Bell says that "even the weaker of its own species under particular circumstances are not exempted from this promiscuous ferocity; for if two moles be placed together in a box without a very plentiful supply of food the weaker certainly falls a prey to the stronger. No thoroughbred bulldog keeps a firmer hold of the object of its attack than the mole. Mr. Jackson, a very intelligent mole-catcher, says that, when a boy, his hand was so severely and firmly laid hold of by one that he was obliged to use his teeth in order to loosen its hold."

HERON AND YOUNG.

We now proceeded on our ramble, and I espied about one hundred yards off a heron on the bank of the Strine. He did not see us at first, but when we got a little nearer, off he flew, with his long legs stretched out behind, and his head bent close to his shoulders. He had evidently been fishing, for we could see the scales of fish on the side of the bank. Willy asked whether herons built on trees, and Jack wanted to know how they managed with their great long legs while sitting on their nests. These birds in the breeding season assemble together and make their nests on tall firs or oak trees; sometimes they build on rocks near the sea coast. It is said, too, that they will occasionally build on the ground. The heron's nest is not unlike that of the rook, only larger and broader; it is made of sticks and lined with wool and coarse grass; the female lays four or five eggs of a green colour, her long legs are tucked under her. Rooks and jackdaws sometimes take up their quarters near to a heronry, and do you know they steal their eggs, the rogues, and devour them. Both male and female herons take great care of their little ones and bring them food. Besides fish the heron will eat frogs, rats, young ducks, and coots. Eels are great dainties in the opinion of Mr. Heron; and sometimes an eel, after being pierced through the head by the sharp and strong bill of the heron, manages to wrap himself so tight round the bird's neck as to stop his breathing and cause his death. A good many years ago herons were protected by the law; they were considered royal game, and their capture by the peregrine falcon was looked upon as very exciting sport. As we followed the bank of the stream out flew a couple of kingfishers with straight and rapid flight; we distinctly heard the shrill note these birds utter; they flew about two hundred yards and lighted on a rail near the water's edge. Let us see if we can get a little nearer to them, I said, and then sit down and see what they will do. "Papa," said May, "is not the kingfisher a very beautiful bird, and the most brightly coloured of all British birds?" Yes, it is; its splendid colours remind one of the gorgeous plumage of tropical birds, and we have no other British bird with such brilliant colours. There, did you see that? one of the birds darted off the rail into the water. I have no doubt he has caught a small fish; and now he has lighted on the same rail, and with my pocket telescope I can see him throw his head up and swallow some dainty morsel. It is not at all an uncommon sight to see a kingfisher hover over the water after the manner of a kestril-hawk; suddenly it will descend with the greatest rapidity and again emerge, seldom failing to secure a fish for its dinner. "Did you ever find a kingfisher's nest, papa?" Willy inquired. Yes; some years ago I found one in a hole in a bank; there were four eggs in it, and I had to put my whole arm into the hole before I got at the nest, which consisted of sand mixed with a great quantity of very small fish bones. The eggs are very pretty, having a delicate pink tinge, the shell is thin, and the form of the egg almost round. "But where," asked Jack, "do the little fish bones of the nest come from?" I think I have told you that many birds—hawks, eagles, owls, shrikes, &c.—throw up from their crops the indigestible portions of their food. It is not uncommon to find these on the ground in the course of one's rambles. Kingfishers possess this power; they throw up the undigested fishbones, and curiously enough, as it would appear, form them into a nest. There is a kingfisher's nest in the British Museum, which I remember to have seen a few years ago. It has been a disputed point whether the parent bird throws the fishbones up at random into the hole where she is going to lay, or whether she forms them into a nest. The nest in the British Museum was secured at the expense of great patience and pains by the celebrated ornithologist and splendid draughtsman, Mr. Gould, whose drawings you may one day see in the library of the museum at Eyton. This specimen, if I remember right, was of a flattened form and fully half an inch thick. It is said that the kingfisher always selects a hole that has an upward slope, so that, though heavy rains may cause the water of the river bank to rise into the hole, the eggs will be dry. Some naturalists have said that kingfishers do not make their own holes, but use those already made by other animals. Mr. Gould, however, is of opinion that kingfishers drill their own holes. The tunnels always slope upwards, as I said; at the further end of the tunnel is an oven-like chamber where the nest is made. The fish-bone nest is thought by Mr. Gould to be really a nest, and intended to keep the eggs off the damp ground. However, there is difference of opinion on this point, and I reserve my own. We will see if we cannot find a kingfisher's nest some time this summer. Now, May, what little plant have you got hold of? "Indeed I don't know, papa, but it is a very curious little plant; I gathered it at the bottom of that hedge bank." Ah, I know it well, and a little favorite it is too; it is the moschatell. You see it is about five inches high, with pale green flowers and leaves; the flowers are arranged in heads of five each, namely, four on the side, and one on the top; it has a delicate musk-like odour, very pleasant and refreshing. Take a few specimens home and put them in water with your primroses. Mamma, I know, is very fond of the pretty little moschatell.

"Oh, papa," exclaimed Willy, "look at the bottom of this drain; what is that strange-looking insect crawling slowly about at the bottom?" I see; it is a water-scorpion, a very common insect in these drains on the moors,—indeed, it is common everywhere; let us catch him and take him home for examination. He is a queer-looking creature, with a small head and pointed beak; his forearms are something like lobster's claws; his prevailing colour blackish-brown, like the mud upon which he crawls; his body is very flat, and ends in two long stick-like projections; underneath these horny covers of the creature may be seen his two wings. He is an aquatic murderer; inserting that pointed beak into the body of some other insect, and holding his victim in his lobster-like forearms—oh! fatal embrace—he sucks out the juices of the struggling prey. Kirby and Spence say that some of the tribe of insects to which the water-scorpion belongs are so savage that they seem to love destruction for its own sake. A water-scorpion which was put into a basin of water with several young tadpoles killed them all without attempting to eat one. The tail projections, I ought to tell you, are connected with the insect's breathing; they are protruded out of the water and conduct the air to the