170 THE FRIENDSHIP OF NATURE 



taking the clusters away to eat at their 

 leisure, and on the roof of the porch I 

 distinguished my old friend with the 

 crumpled claw. 



Autumn's sky colours are very illu- 

 sive; the smoky brown mist rising 

 from the ground veils the most exquisite 

 combinations. The songs of the adult 

 birds, if the few disconnected notes 

 may be called songs, touch chords 

 wholly of reminiscence. I heard a 

 fluty whistle coming from a tangle — 

 instantly my thoughts receded. " If it 

 was June," I said, " I should know that 

 a chat was hiding there." All the 

 while, this olive and gold recluse 

 was perching close at hand, giving 

 his call at intervals so softly, as if 

 even to himself it was but the whis- 

 per of memory. The young birds, 

 however, furnish by their little war- 

 blings one of the enchantments of 



