That favourite diversion of our ancestors, heron hawking, is now, it is to be regretted, nearly at an end. It must have been an exciting and beautiful sight with well trained hawks. Gay evidently thought so.

The tow'ring hawk let future poets sing,
Who terror bears upon his soaring wing;
Let them on high the frighted hern survey,
And lofty numbers paint their airy fray.

The remarks on the wanton destruction of herons, may be applied to that persecuted and almost extinct bird, the Raven. The only pair I have ever seen, with the exception of those in Windsor Great Park, was in the neighbourhood of Selborne, where they served to remind me of Mr. White's very interesting account of the pair, which had built their nests and reared their young for so many years on the "Raven's Oak tree" at that place. There are many curious associations connected with this bird - it is frequently mentioned in our bible history, as employed by the Almighty as the caterer of food, and of its young being under the immediate care of the Great Creator - it has been immortalized by our Shakspeare, and referred to by Addison, Dryden and Young, and indeed by many of our poets. The raven not only has been, but still is connected with the history of the superstitions of this country, and it was but lately

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that I was assured by a sober hind" at work in this neighbourhood, that his companion had been warned of his approaching death, in consequence of a raven having always croaked when it flew over his head. Like the Bustard,* its existence in this country is nearly at an end, but in places where they are still to be found it is to be hoped that some pains may be taken to preserve them from destruction. Ravens, indeed, must have been much more numerous a few years ago, than they are at present. Mr. White mentions his having seen forty of them in 1778 playing over the hanger at Selborne at one time.

The Kite, alo, has become nearly an extinct bird in this country, from a foolish apprehension, entertained both by gentlemen and their keepers, that they destroy the game. On examining a nest of one of these birds, it will be found that frogs,

*The last bustard that was killed near Thetford in Norfolk (the bustard-country) was in the year 1831. We were intimately acquainted with a Norfolk gentleman (Mr. Whittington) a great sportsman, who assured us that he once had a pack of bustards rise before his gun; he suddenly came upon them in a gravel pit. Mr. Southey and Sir Richard Hoare have both mentioned the curious fact, that the bustard has been known to attack men on horseback at night.

Mr. Yarrell informs me that the last bustard known to be killed in England was shot, in the spring of 1843, in Cornwall. It was a female, and had been seen in a turnip field for several days. This is the first instance of the bustard being found in Cornwall.

mice and snakes are the chief food of their young. It is now but very seldom that we are indulged with a sight of the beautiful gyrations of this bird, or of seeing it supporting itself in the air with a motion almost imperceptible. Its sweeping circles are peculiarly elegant, and often have I watched them with the greatest pleasure. How much is it to be regretted that this noble bird should have been doomed to destruction by those, who have taken but little trouble to enquire into its asserted predatory habits.

When the kite was more numerous than it is at present, its appearance was hailed as the harbinger of fine weather. Bacon tells us that when it was seen flying aloft it portended fair and fine weather.

See gentle brooks, how quietly they glide,
Kissing the rugged banks on either side;
While in their crystal streams at once they show,
And with them feed the flow'rs which they bestow,
Though rudely throng'd by a too near embrace,
In gentle murmurs they keep on their race.

DENHAM.

I HAVE Occasionally found myself strolling on the banks of one of those little narrow streams which wriggle, if the expression may be used, through some green verdant meadows. Here and there bull-rushes, water-docks, and other aquatic plants nearly meet as they bend towards each other from either side. In some places there are deep holes, generally under the roots of some stunted alder or willow-pollard, and here and there, in places where cattle have made a passage, the water trickles over a gravelly bottom,* sparkling as the sun-beams fall upon it. The banks are generally undermined by the winter floods, and are full of rat holes, one of which is occasionally the resort of the kingfisher, which darts by now and then with a silent rapidity. Water-hens are abundant in these localities, and may be seen of an evening

* This is a favourite place of resort for a swarm of little fish fry innumerable."

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peering over the meadows in search of food, and jerking their white tails as they wander about; nothing can be more agreeable than a stroll on a fine day by the side of one these little modest streamlets. They have but little inducement for the angler, but much for the naturalist. Here he may gather nature's nosegay of sweetest flowers, while he reclines on a bank,

whereon the wild thyme blows, Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows; Quite over canopied with lush woodbine,

or listen to

The lark, who amid the clear blue sky,
Carols, but is not seen.

The very remembrance of these scenes is delightful, for they leave a freshness in the mind which time cannot obliterate. I am thankful that my official employments enable me still occasionally to enjoy them, and I can exclaim with the poet of Wiltshire as I walk on the banks of a favourite river, or sit under the shade of a tree by its sides.

'tis pleasant when thy breath is on the leaves
Without, to rest in this embowering shade,
And mark the green fly, circling to and fro,

O'er the still water, with his dragon wings

Shooting from bank to bank, now in quick turns,
Then swift athwart, as is the gazer's glance,
Pursuing still his mate.*

MR. BOWLES.