NATURE IN NOVEMBER. 2 S3 



During November the screech of an Owl sounds very 

 weird and desolate, and small wonder is it that old country 

 people associate with it a death warning and other curious 

 superstitions. 



Mr. Stone's photograph of a pair of Barn Owls a study 

 from still life is very appropriate just now. This Owl is one 

 of the most beautiful birds breeding in Britain, and the good 

 these birds do is inestimable. 



High up in the air a flock of Wild Geese may perchance be 

 seen, or, failing them, a few Herons, or Moll Herns as they 

 are commonly called by country people, and the trained Natur- 

 alist looks for that V-shaped flock of Wild Ducks. The trilling 

 Skylark has started singing again; no matter how unpropitious 

 the weather, there he is up aloft singing as if it was a warm 

 Spring morning 1 



Nothing is so beautiful at this time of the year as the song of 

 a Thrush. In his song one seems to imagine that the bird 

 cannot stand the coming Winter solitude, and perched on the 

 branch of some naked bough he pours out those joyous notes 

 which Macgillivray defines most beautifully thus 



1 Dear, dear, dear, 



In the rocky glen, 

 Far away, far away, far away, 



The haunts of men 

 Here shall we dwell in love, 

 With the lark and dove, 

 Cuckoo and cornrail. 

 Feast on the banded snail, 



Worm and gilded fly, 

 Drink of the crystal rill, 

 Winding adown the hill, 



Never to dry. 



With glee, with glee, with glee, 



Cheer up, cheer up, cheer up, here 

 Nothing to harm us, then sing merrily, 

 Sing to the loved one whose nest is near. 

 Qui, qui, qui, kweeu, quip, 

 Tiurru, tiurra, chipiwi, 

 Too-tee, too-tee< chinchoo, 

 Chirri, chirri, chooee, 

 Quiu, qui, qui.' 



