DOVES 



In the deeps of the woodlands, a little path winds, 

 iintended, and overgrown with soft green moss like 

 a carpet. Straggling thickets — chiefly of alder — 

 grow on either hand, and here the Blackcap and 

 the shy Garden Warbler may be heard singing, or 

 seen moving furtively in the leaves. Sometimes a 

 Pheasant crosses the little track, standing resplen- 

 dent for a moment, and then disappearing in the 

 undergrowth. High trees rise from amidst the 

 alders, over-arching the way, and dappling the 

 path with a network of shadows. From the upper 

 branches comes a soothing sound, a sound in per- 

 fect keeping with the serenity of the wood — " coo- 

 coo, roo-roo," louder at lirst, and sinking at the close 

 into the merest murmur. Soon one gains a glimpse 

 of blue-grey plumage high amidst the leaves, and 

 the Ring-dove may be seen bending low and croon- 

 ing upon the bough. In early spring, the soft coo 

 may be heard almost the whole day long, but, as 

 summer advances, it becomes intermittent, or ceases 

 altogether. It is strange that the Wood-pigeon, as 

 the Ring-dove is commonly called, loving, as it 

 does, to rest on the loftiest trees, and being so 

 wary a bird, should descend to such low elevations 

 in its choice of nesting site. 



Close to the path, the ground at one point sud- 

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