vely a little creature. The pond has not yet any of the growths
that will presently render its margin green; the willow-herbs are
still low, the aquatic grasses have not become strong, and the
osiers are without leaf. If examined closely, evidences of growth
would be found everywhere around it; but as yet the surface is open,
and it looks cold. Along the brook the shoals are visible, as the
flags have not risen from the stems which were cut down in the
autumn. In the sedges, however, the first young shoots are thrusting
up, and the reeds have started slender green stalks tipped with the
first leaves. At the verge of the water, a thick green plant of
marsh-marigold has one or two great golden flowers open. This is the
appearance of his home when the sedge-reedling returns to it.
Sometimes he may be seen flitting across the pond, or perched for a
moment on an exposed branch; but he quickly returns to the dry
sedges or the bushes, or climbs in and out the willow-stoles. It is
too bare and open for him at the pond, or even by the brookside. So
much does he love concealment, that although to be near the water is
his habit, for a while he prefers to keep back among the bushes. As
the reeds and reed canary-grass come up and form a cover--as the
sedges grow green and advance to the edge of the water--as the
sword-flags lift up and expand, opening from a centre, the
sedge-reedling issues from the bushes and enters these vigorous
growths, on which he perches, and about which he climbs as if they
were trees. In the pleasant mornings, when the sun grows warm about
eleven o'clock, he calls and sings with scarcely a cessation, and is
answered by his companions up and down the stream. He does but just
interrupt his search for food to sing; he stays a moment, calls, and
immediately resumes his prying into every crevice of the branches
and stoles. The thrush often sits on a bough and sings for a length
of time, apart from his food, and without thinking of it, absorbed
in his song, and full of the sweetness of the day. These restless
sedge-reedlings cannot pause; their little feet are for ever at
work, climbing about the willow-stoles where the wands spring from
the trunk; they never reflect; they are always engaged. This
restlessness is to them a great pleasure; they are filled with the
life which the sun gives, and express it in every motion; they are
so joyful, they cannot be still. Step into the osier-bed amongst
them gently; they wi