The sparrows have all returned and are here in astonishing numbers. They have been away, I suppose, in the harvest fields, feeding sumptuously every day. Now they will begin to clear the garden of its pests. They usually gather together a little before dusk; and their favourite meeting-place is a broadtopped oak which has more leaves upon it now than any other of the neighbouring trees. From this tree as a centre they are incessantly darting out, returning quickly, and chasing each other from bough to bough. The sound of their united twittering and whistling is very peculiar. As it seems to me, their only object is amusement, for I have not been able to discover any method or serious purpose in their action at this time. I was standing under this tree the other night watching their movements, when the sound of a distant gun sent them all abroad, and I saw that there must have been more than two hundred of them perched in this place alone. As the darkness comes. on they slowly and almost imperceptibly disperse. I have tried to follow them but cannot; and I often ask myself, Where do all these birds go to in the night? I have looked for them after dark, but have never been able to find more than two or three sitting here and there on the hawthorns.

XLII.-THE GLEN.

October 24.

THE face of the country here, though undulating and far from monotonous when considered in detail, would be broadly described as flat, the base of the hills being five or six miles away. This comparatively level surface, however, is frequently indented by picturesque and winding ravines, which have been gradually scooped out by the slow agency of winter floods. What we call The Glen is one of the smaller of these ravines. Its shape is irregular. There is a main trunk along which the principal stream flows, and there are besides two or three branching hollows, each of which has its own water-course. One of these takes its rise within our own garden-enclosure, and is known to us as The Dell. The water from the pond flows through it, and it is here that the boys make mimic water-wheels. In spring the slopes of it are blue with hyacinths, and there are some fine ferns about the roots of the tall ash-trees which rise on each side. At the top of the Dell there is an old wooden dove-cage mounted on a tree-stump. We have put it there as a shelter or rendezvous for the birds, if they choose to use it; and as the bars are wide apart they can pass in and out as they wish.

Just now it is covered with branches, which, in pruning, have been cut from the rose-bushes and placed here so that the birds might pluck the scarlet hips which are still hanging upon them. Outside the fence the Dell has been filled up and is crossed by a public road, under which the water runs, continuing its course down into the Glen. Standing in the road you may look along the narrow ravine and see a picture of considerable beauty. The ash-trees which begin in our garden grow more thickly here. The stems, having to climb towards the light, are long and bare, and lean towards each other so as to cross near the summit. In this way they make a vista down which the eye travels with the same pleasure that it would along an aisle of gothic arches.

The Glen is always a surprise to strangers. If one should come to it in the depth of summer and find himself, not on the outskirts, but in the very midst, the exclamation which would be sure to rise to his lips would be--' How thick the foliage—this might be thirty miles away from any town!' Truth to tell, it is an oasis. The city is ever stealing nearer and nearer upon it; and is, in fact, rapidly making a sterile wilderness of the surrounding fields. This makes the place more precious--we know that it will soon be gone, and when we first catch sight of its

leafy edge, as we return home in the evening, we say This is the happy valley in whose precincts we shall find once more peace and repose.'

The Glen is not large. To walk round it following its irregular margin would be a journey perhaps of some three quarters of a mile. In doing this we should start from our own gates; and, descending a steep lane, pass the picturesque cottages which have been already mentioned in these Notes. Ascending again, one comes upon an old house, in front of which may still be seen the stone mounting-steps, where the stirrup-cup may often have been tossed off; and which tell their own tale of riders long dead. Here, standing under a gnarled and twisted elm, at the edge of the declivity, we look down on the grey roofs of the cottages, and into the Glen itself. At this point, if we have permission, we may most easily descend into it. In the cloudy afternoon of an October day the place is very still and not unlovely, although the summer is gone, and although even the return of summer will not bring back the beauty which we have known of old. When we reach the bottom and wander along the grassy path by the brook-side, we see how exquisite are the folding and over-lapping lines of the green slopes as they fall back one behind another. This is the great beauty of the Glen. The

ridges all round are set selves against the sky.

with trees which show themThere is the beech, the chest

silver birch, and one purple

nut, the sycamore, the beech, which we have watched for nearly twenty years, putting on, season after season, its glorious and ever-changing apparel of green, of light brown, of purple, and lastly of brilliant red.

By the path there are still in flower the daisy, the dandelion, the shepherd's purse, and the scabious or devil's-bit; and among the long grass overhanging the brook there is cne tuft of red-campion, a cheerful thing for October. In the bottom of the Glen there are two noble trees which rise above all the rest -a lime and an ash. Both of them might be sketched as characteristic of their species. The bole of the lime is, as usual, straight and well-formed; and many a time have I watched for hours the gracefully curving branches move up and down in the wind, with that feathery and finger-like motion which is so peculiar to them—

The large lime feathers low,

The lime a summer home of murmurous wings. The ash grows against a bank; and on one side its roots, green and scaly, are half-exposed. A few leaves still hang on the spreading and shapely boughs and a bramble climbs about the lower part of the

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