IV 



My Log 381 



of as pretty a colour you must go to the bittern, 

 and if you get them, make them into flies for your 

 spring Welsh salmon-fishing, in case there ever be 

 salmon in Wales. Don't count them ; they are 

 shamefully few owing to their own wildness and 

 our study of natural history ; yet enough for a 

 ward-room supper, not counting these sleepy little 

 quail, and all we are going to shoot this afternoon. 

 You may say what you like, Doctor, you who know 

 the Bog of Allen by heart ; but the only time I 

 have ever heard snipes drum was in the autumn 

 coming home late from deer-stalking, just between 

 the lights. The noise seems to come down to you 

 from above ; and from what I could see in the 

 gloaming, I believe those who say that it is pro- 

 duced by the rapid vibration of the quill feathers 

 as they force their way downwards, somehow or 

 another, as everything in nature is done. 



High up the valley long rows of men in white 

 were digging up the light soil with enormous hoes, 

 putting one wonderfully in mind of the slaves in 

 Brazil as one used to see them in the picture-books. 

 A hoeful of earth was dropped gravely into a small 

 basket, which was conveyed to another part of the 

 field by a small boy with great deliberation, where 

 it was emptied out and smoothed ; then the work- 

 man rested on his hoe, and the small boy sat on 

 his basket, and they both gazed at creation gener- 

 ally till they mustered up energy enough to begin 



again. 



