BIRDS OF THE NIGHT 



The long summer day draws to a close. A little 

 while ago a Willow Wren sang faintly in the re- 

 cesses of the wood, and the Swifts still might be 

 seen flying high. Now, one by one, the sights 

 and sounds of Nature die down. The Whitethroats 

 cease to move restlessly in the brambles by the 

 hedge, and the Blackbird Avhich flew across the 

 road, with a scream of defiance, making for the tall 

 hawthorns beyond, gives no further sign. 



In the country it is hard to find a spot so desolate 

 that it is possible to rest there, even for a few mo- 

 ments, without some living thing coming within 

 one's ken. By the riverside, in the open meadow, 

 in the depths of the wood, wait but a little while 

 in perfect stillness, and the true owners of the small 

 domain which falls within the circle of your eye 

 will resume the work or play which your footstep 

 has arrested. 



But now, just when day and night meet, all ani- 

 mated Nature has disappeared. In the crannies of 

 the wall, in the deeps of the mowing grass and of 

 the corn, in the infinite harbourage of the full- 

 leafed woods, all the wild life of the countryside 

 seems to be hidden away in silence. 



But only for a little while are the activities of 

 Nature suspended. Night has her votaries as well 

 2 17 



