n8 BUSH DAYS 



music; as they flit about, the sunbeams catch their yellow 

 backs, and the world is the richer for two discs of purest gold. 



A group of little tree runners have just come flying fussily 

 across the road and are now busily engaged in clearing my 

 side fence of insects ; as they move along, head downwards, 

 and fly from spot to spot the sun catches the orange band 

 across their wings, and they look like some rare Oriental 

 gems against the dull brown of the palings. Now a razor- 

 grinder has come to join them, uttering his quaint grinding 

 note, as if he were filing the gems. 



Up on the hillside an autumn orchard stretches in beauty, 

 with a wealth of precious stones; the red leaves of the per- 

 simmons burn like fiery opals, and the late apples, filled with 

 " ripeness to the core," blush like tourmalines amongst their 

 green leaves, while here and there a solitary quince shines 

 out like a yellow sapphire from its silver setting. And from 

 the orchard come the rarest jewels of all the full, round, 

 ringing notes of the butcher birds. Free from the domestic 

 duties which keep them in the valley during the summer, they 

 are now to be heard each day singing amongst the trees, and 

 springs holds no sweeter melodies. On the fresh morning air 

 their song comes with a richness that only autumn gives. It 

 tells of " mellow fruitfulness," of deeds accomplished, of a 

 happy harvest ; and as I listen, the words of the sweetest of 

 sweet singers come as a soft accompaniment to the bird's song : 



' Wh 

 Thi 



here are the Songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? 

 ink not of them, thou hast thy music too." 



