1 1 8 A bout the Feathered Folk. 



The country folk call it the Cushat 

 Dove, from its cooing voice; or 

 the Ring-dove, because of the broken 

 collar of white-tipped feathers which 

 partly encircles the changeful glory 

 of its neck. 



Then we talked of the Blue rock, 

 the hardy, fleet-winged Pigeon that 

 dwells in the sea-caves of our 

 English coasts: smaller than the 

 Wood-pigeon, smaller even than his 

 own gentle friend of the London 

 square ; but wilder, far, as one would 

 expect from a creature spending its 

 life on the wild sea-coast. 



I tried to picture to him the 

 home of the Rock dove, a cave, 

 with cool white shell-sand at its 

 threshold, and with no floor at all, 

 save the sparkling ripples of the 

 sheltered sea. Or, perhaps, a darker, 

 loftier grotto, where the Atlantic 

 surges beat and roar, filled with a 

 gloom impenetrable, save where the 

 innocent birds flash in and out on 



