'THE MALLARD . . . MUST HIDE 3 



SUMMER LIVERIES 



THE glory of colour which fills our world in spring grows 

 gradually blurred as summer advances. Doubtless colour is 

 born at the same time that colour dies. The roses are red 

 when the leaves are brown, and on the common the gold of 

 the gorse is succeeded by the purple of the heather. Never- 

 theless, things do take a sober colouring under the passage 

 of the suns. But not only leaves so decline. It is easy to 

 see that feathers lose colour no less than leaves. Some 

 birds change out of all recognition, so drab is the later 

 livery and so bright the early. They become 'eclipsed,' 

 to use the word invented years ago by that fresh and 

 vigorous naturalist, the polemical Waterton. 



Even a Cockney may notice this change that summer 

 brings to the birds within his ken. When the chestnut 

 leaves in the parks grow sullied and brown on the lower 

 boughs, and the trees look as if they were wearing skirts of 

 two colours and two lengths, the town birds more or less follow 

 suit, and take their cue from the trees. Indeed, the towns 

 house three species which undergo a peculiarly well-marked 

 change a spring change, and consequently also a summer 

 change. The sparrow, the pigeon, and the starling all suffer 



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