up they are closely rolled together in a pointed spike.

This, rising among the dead and matted leaves of the autumn,
occasionally passes through holes in them. As the spike grows it lifts
the dead leaves with it, which hold it like a ring and prevent it from
unfolding. The force of growth is not sufficiently strong to burst the
bond asunder till the green leaves have attained considerable size.

A little earlier in the year the chattering of magpies would have been
heard while looking for the signs of spring, but they were now occupied
with their nests. There are several within a short distance, easily
distinguished in winter, but somewhat hidden now by the young leaves.
Just before they settled down to housekeeping there was a great
chattering and fluttering and excitement, as they chased each other from
elm to elm.

Four or five were then often in the same field, some in the trees, some
on the ground, their white and black showing distinctly on the level
brown earth recently harrowed or rolled. On such a surface birds are
visible at a distance; but when the blades of the corn begin to reach
any height such as alight are concealed. In many districts of the
country that might be called wild and lonely, the magpie is almost
extinct. Once now and then a pair may be observed, and those who know
their haunts can, of course, find them, but to a visitor passing
through, there seems none. But here, so near the metropolis, the magpies
are common, and during an hour's walk their cry is almost sure to be
heard. They have, however, their favourite locality, where they are much
more frequently seen.

Coming to my seat under the aspen by the bridge week after week, the