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SUMMER 



be plainly seen lifting its head above the green pile of the 

 meadow, and calling in different directions, apparently seek- 

 ing a mate. In the south of England the corncrake usually 

 falls silent in June; but in the valleys of the north and west, 

 where it remains more abundant than it has been of late 

 years in the south, it calls in the late-mown hay-fields far 

 on into July, when the bilberries are ripening on the hills. 



One curious feature of the early hours of a summer 

 morning is the boldness of the beasts and birds. Before five 

 o'clock very few people are stirring, and wild creatures do 



PARTRIDGES DUSTING 



not take man into account. They lord it in their own 

 domain, as once in Eden ; and except for the trim roads and 

 well-tilled fields telling of daily care, the human explorer of 

 the June morning might almost feel himself a survivor on 

 a planet from which mankind had flown. The roads are 

 occupied by the birds for courting, preening, fighting, bath- 

 ing in the dust, feeding and exercising their young, and for 

 every purpose that a smooth and wheelless terrace natur- 

 ally suggests to a bird's mind. If it were not so natural 

 and unconscious, there would be something actively con- 

 temptuous in this annexation of a country highway as a 

 promenade of infant partridges and amorous yellowhammers. 

 When the explorer approaches the birds show little of the 



